


Of Christmas Pines and Pining Captains

by Silent_So_Long



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Tree, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 15:31:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silent_So_Long/pseuds/Silent_So_Long
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leonard McCoy has to traverse the festive minefield known as Christmas, all whilst dealing with moping, pining captains, drunken engineers, not-so-secret Santas, and rather acerbic Vulcans, before discovering that he has a secret admirer. AKA, the fic in which Jim Kirk pines, and there are Christmas pine trees on the Bridge</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Christmas Pines and Pining Captains

**Author's Note:**

> written for [christmasbang 2011](http://christmasbang.livejournal.com)
> 
> **Link to fic master post:** [Of Christmas Pines ...](http://metallikirk.livejournal.com/100150.html)  
>  **Link to art master post:** [Here.](http://chosenfire28.livejournal.com/240774.html)

>~*~*~*~

Leonard McCoy was busy in the Sick Bay, tending to a patient, when he was visited by the slightly nervous looking Montgomery Scott. At first, the doctor was too busy to even notice the engineer was even there, not aided by the fact that said engineer was loitering in the background, endangering himself through getting under the feet of several nurses. Finally, McCoy noticed him, frown lowering over hazel eyes at the way Scotty’s brow was furrowed over unusually large puppy dog eyes.

“Well? What’s the matter with you, man? Spit it out,” McCoy barked, as he bustled all around Scotty, examining him without a thought.

The doctor assumed, from the way that Scotty was standing awkwardly, that the man, naturally, was ill. Sometimes, he just didn’t know when not to be a doctor.

“It’s no me I’ve come for, Doctor. It’s the cap’n,” Scotty explained, even as McCoy continued to examine him, peering into his eyes with a scowl.

“Jim? Why couldn’t he have come himself?” McCoy asked, raising one eyebrow in surprise at Scotty.

“Tha’s it, though, he can’t,” Scotty replied, sheepishly.

“Can’t? What d’you mean, can’t? Is he ill? Are his legs not working?” McCoy asked.

“Nae, nothing like tha’. I dinna ken what to say, Doctor. Kirk’s gone missing,” Scotty replied, suddenly unable to meet McCoy’s glare.

“Missing? Does Spock know?” McCoy asked, already leaving the Sick Bay to head for the bridge.

“Aye, sir. I’ve told him already, but he told me to come to you after I told him Kirk wasn’t feeling right,” Scotty explained, as he hurried to catch up with the doctor.

McCoy quickened his pace, scowling at anyone who had the audacity to get in his way, even as he threw a question over his shoulder at the engineer hurrying behind him.

“What d’you mean Jim ain’t feeling right? He hasn’t said anything to me,” the doctor commented, feeling the first frisson of concern shimmer through his being.

The thought of the Enterprise’s captain falling ill for some, as yet, unknown reason, had more than McCoy’s doctor senses tingling. James Kirk had become his firm friend almost from the very moment they’d met and McCoy had made the viable threat of possibly vomiting upon Kirk in transit. Kirk hadn’t commented then about the threatened digression to his clothing and dignity and certainly hadn’t made reference to it since. McCoy hadn’t vomited upon Kirk nor anyone else for that matter, yet it worried the doctor that that was, indeed, what Kirk was doing right at that very moment in time. He knew that the planet Sarano, which the Enterprise was currently orbiting, would no doubt have plenty of places to attract the errant captain.

“I don’t think he would, sir,” Scotty replied, heaving a little with huffing breath as he attempted to match his stride with McCoy’s.

McCoy’s greater height and subsequently longer legs made his strides longer than Scotty’s, forcing the fit engineer to almost struggle to maintain his momentum and keep up.

“Explain,” McCoy said, as he weaved onto the bridge diligently.

“It’s no something ye can cure with medicine or a hypo-spray, Doctor. I think it’s more something to do with the head and the heart,” Scotty replied, morosely.

“He’s depressed?” McCoy asked, stopping finally to whirl upon the engineer who flinched. “Damnit, Scotty, I’m a doctor, not a mind-reader. How the hell am I supposed to find out what’s going on if you’re not telling me everything? Where’s Jim now?”

“He‘s gone, Doctor,” Spock’s voice came next. “And I find it quite illogical to note that you accuse Scotty of not telling you everything when in actual fact he’s trying his very best to do just that.”

“Oh, is he now? Could have fooled me,” McCoy groused at the Vulcan. “This is my friend we’re talking about here.”

“As Jim is your friend, so he is mine,” Spock stated, coolly, calm exterior showing no emotion at all.

“He’s mine, too, sir,” Scotty replied, stoically, smiling at memories of Kirk.

“Great, So where is he? I don’t see him on the bridge,” McCoy said, hazel eyes scanning the environs of the bridge scathingly.

He could see Chekov, Sulu, DeSalle, Giotto, Uhura, but no James Kirk. It wasn’t often that Kirk took himself off upon occasion to partake in some unsolicited shore leave, especially in days gone past when a woman had been involved. McCoy found himself wondering then, when the last time that actually happened. His memory, usually quite good, especially when it came to Jim Kirk, failed him for once.

McCoy’s hand suddenly flashed out and he caught Spock upon the upper arm, as the Vulcan strode purposefully past him. Despite the fact that Spock was physically stronger than him, McCoy’s urgency was enough to stall the other man in his tracks, aided no doubt by the ferocious scowl that adorned McCoy’s face. That scowl, which furrowed the skin between the doctor’s dark brows, promised all manners of medical procedures if he didn’t get his answers straight away.

“Where’s Jim?” McCoy grated out, angry tones softened by his southern accent coming to the fore, growing stronger in his agitation.

That was one thing that Kirk had always said he loved about McCoy; that McCoy’s accent always became stronger when the doctor was angry, agitated, drunk or on occasion, insanely relaxed. McCoy had been known to take advantage of that, deliberately using his accent to bend the extremely wayward captain to his will when Kirk wasn’t playing ball as he should. Even though Kirk knew what McCoy was doing, he’d still had enough power over him with his accent alone to make Kirk more biddable.

Now, though, would not be one of those times. Unlike Kirk, Spock seemed as impervious to McCoy’s accent as he was to pretty much everything else. One dark eyebrow raised archly, yet no flicker of any other emotions passed across the Vulcan’s face and his eyes remained stoically still and calm. Perhaps it was the fact that even though McCoy was in the knowledge of some extremely incredible medical wiles, he still couldn’t harm the Vulcan if he tried.

“He has gone to the planet below, sir. Did Scotty not tell you this?” Spock asked, turning that arch look upon the chief engineer.

“I tried, Spock,” Scotty said, agitation making his own Scottish accent come out all the stronger. “He’s no listening, man. How was I to know McCoy would get all possessive, huh?”

“I would have thought that reaction would have perfectly logical, given McCoy’s claims over Kirk’s friendship,” Spock said, turning his cool, yet somehow vaguely amused look upon the doctor. “Wouldn’t you say, Doctor?”

McCoy grunted but other than that remained silent and glaring at the Science Officer.

“Aye, I s’pose you’re right,” Scotty said in defeat, before he threw an apologetic look in the doctor’s direction.

“Where is Jim, exactly? Location, man, I need it,” McCoy demanded of Spock. “If he’s in as much trouble as Scotty indicated, then I need to be there to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“Trouble?” Spock questioned, as he threw Scotty a pointed glare.

“He’s no acting right, sir. Even you have tae admit that, surely,” the engineer replied, worried expression tugging at the corners of his eyes as he stared at the pair of them.

“It would seem that Jim is acting somewhat out of character today, I have to concede to that,” Spock said, slowly, dipping his head in Scotty’s direction. “However, I am led to assume by extensive studies upon the emotional state of humanity, that Kirk is perhaps acting quite depressed, if I may say so.”

“Oh, you may, may you?” McCoy asked, with a roll of his eyes at the Vulcan. “Fair enough. That was pretty much my immediate diagnosis, too. I’m going to him, see if I can’t talk some sense into him. So, as you can see, I really need his location.”

Spock’s sigh was barely audible, but still there anyway, eyes briefly fluttering closed at the doctor’s persistence. He finally gave McCoy the co-ordinates for a bustling town on the northernmost continent of the planet Sarano, where he suspected Kirk had beamed down to, before watching as McCoy strode from the bridge without another word being spoken.

~*~*~*~

McCoy didn’t have to go far through the town below to find Kirk. There was only one bar in the whole place, and, knowing Kirk as well as McCoy did, he figured a depressed captain may very well head for the seemingly esteemed watering hole. Hell, McCoy knew that that was where he would have headed if he was depressed.

Kirk was situated at the bar itself, shoulders drawn in slightly in a defensive posture, yet the captain seemed neither inebriated nor likely to be in the near future. Judging by the upright straightness of his back, the doctor assumed that the captain had had little by way of alcohol or spirits since he’d disappeared from the Enterprise. The single tumbler of bourbon in front of Kirk solidified McCoy’s assumption and snap judgment.

The captain barely looked up when McCoy slid onto the stool next to him, mouth turned down at the corners and sticking out in a childish pout slightly. His blue eyes were still glittering and clear, although slightly dimmed from their usually forthright and overly curious and cheeky gaze.

“Hey, Bones,” Kirk said, in the tone of voice that said he wasn’t surprised to find the doctor there. “I would have figured you would have turned up here earlier.”

“I would have been here earlier, if Scotty hadn’t worked himself up madder than a box of poked frogs,” McCoy said, with a sigh. “You know how excitable he can be. Plus Spock was no help, as per usual. I’d have better luck drawing blood from a stone than extract information from that pointy eared hobgoblin. Bastard.”

“He tries, Bones,” Kirk said, with a slight curve of a smile to his lips. “They both do.”

“Yeah, try my patience,” McCoy said, with a small smile of his own, that indicated he didn’t mean what he was saying, or at least, in Scotty’s case, he didn’t.

McCoy rather enjoyed the company of Scotty usually, although the jury was still out on Spock. The Vulcan did provide endless hours of baiting time however. The Vulcan was so easy to bait and rile, which soon became the doctor’s favourite hobby.

“They’re not that bad,” Kirk said, with a sigh and a slight shrug. “You want a drink?”

“Same as what you’re having. Make that a double,” McCoy replied.

It was only then that Kirk realized just how frazzled the doctor looked beneath the scowl, as though Bones had really been worrying over him. He smiled at that, and touched the pads of his fingertips to McCoy’s wrist gently.

“You didn’t have to come, you know,” he said, quietly. “I would have come back, eventually.”

“Rip-roaring drunk and minus a few limbs, no doubt,” McCoy rejoined. “Plus you’d have a few bruises not your own, too.”

“That doesn't make any sense, Bones,” Kirk said, with his first proper grin since the doctor had arrived. “I can’t have someone else’s bruises.”

“Stick with me long enough, Jim, and you’ll find out how easy that can be arranged,” McCoy said, with a slight smile back.

“Hey, I thought you were supposed to be helping me, not getting me bruised and bloodied,” Kirk protested, as the bartender brought McCoy his drink.

“Nah, you have enough ease getting in that state on your own good graces,” McCoy sighed. “I should know. I’ve patched you up enough.”

“I’m sorry,” Kirk said, but McCoy wasn’t entirely convinced the captain meant the apology.

He didn’t say anything, merely knocked back a huge swallow of his bourbon, nodding at the taste in appreciation.

“This is good stuff, Jim,” he said, despite the fact that Kirk had barely touched his. “Not often you can get stuff as good as this. I might buy you a bottle for Christmas.”

Kirk’s face fell at that, leaving McCoy staring at him in confusion.

“I could get you something else, you know,” he said, bafflement as clear in his tone as in his concerned hazel eyes.

“That’s just it. Will we even have a Christmas?” Kirk asked, sadly. “This is the first time I’ve been away from Earth at this time of year. We’ve always celebrated. Mom was old-fashioned that way, but I doubt Frank cared either way. Why Sam left.”

McCoy nodded, knowing a little of Kirk’s family life, or at least as much as Kirk had been willing to tell him. He’d known that Frank wasn’t the most ideal of step-fathers, often quite abusive, especially towards Kirk in his formative years. It sounded to McCoy as though Frank had been jealous of Kirk, enraged by Kirk’s higher IQ and ambition for greatness, hidden not quite so well beneath a layer of rebelliousness. McCoy attributed that rebelliousness to Frank, there beneath the surface anyway but brought out still further by an abusive step-father. It was clear to McCoy that Kirk still missed his brother. Sam had been gone a long time, and their calls and messages were few and far between according to Kirk himself. Beyond that, Kirk wasn’t saying too much about his home life, until the Christmas comment, that was.

“I hear ya. It’s been a few years since I’ve felt like celebrating but it’d be a shame to not even make the attempt. We’ll be gone for five years, Jim, far from home. We should make the most of it and at least put a tree on the bridge or something. If that’d make ya feel better and all,” McCoy offered, not knowing what else to say to Kirk.

He’d be the first to say that he was a physician, not a psychiatrist although he knew the bare bones of psychiatry and what that entailed. Scotty’s analysis that Kirk had seemed depressed was spot on, and by Kirk’s own admission it was over the fact that Christmas was only a few weeks away. To invoke the spirit of Christmas upon the Enterprise herself wouldn’t be so hard to do, in McCoy’s opinion.

“Yeah?” Kirk asked, finally looking McCoy in the eye with a sense of hope at last.

“Why not?” McCoy asked, with one arch lift of a shoulder, lips down-turned at the corners as he shrugged. “Might stop you moping around like a pre-pubescent school-girl, at least.”

“I resent that, Bones,” Kirk said, with an attempt at a scowl. “Just so you know.”

“Yeah? Good. Now, snap out of it, kid,” McCoy said, as he nudged Kirk with one elbow.

“Snapping out of it right now,” Kirk replied, wide grin spreading across his face in determination.

McCoy grunted, not quite convinced yet still ordered another bourbon anyway. He maintained his silence long enough to down his drink, before hauling Kirk to his feet. Much to the captain’s credit he maintained his balance, proving that he really hadn’t drunk that much at all. The single glass in front of him when McCoy had arrived proved it.

The doctor wondered if perhaps Kirk hadn’t been all that depressed as Scotty had intimated, merely brooding instead over things he thought he’d be missing. McCoy sighed to himself, not particularly looking forward to endless rounds of shopping that Kirk would no doubt inflict upon him and the ever-present need to be jolly for all. The mere thought of it all wore on McCoy’s nerves before it even got started. He shuddered to think what state he would be in in a week’s time.

~*~*~*~

McCoy had little choice but to keep to his promise to Kirk to go ahead with Christmas preparations, for as soon as the Captain stepped onto the bridge, he was announcing the fact the Enterprise would host its inaugural Christmas festivities that year. He made sure to give McCoy all the credit, and was rewarded by a fresh scowl from McCoy himself and a few raised eyebrows from a few of the crew members, most notably from Spock.

The Vulcan opined to Kirk later that afternoon on respects of the Christmas festivities as soon as he was alone with the captain.

“I do not see the fascination with Christmas, sir. Perhaps you would explain it to me?” he asked, calm features regarding Kirk’s with only scientific curiosity. “I was under the assumption that it was a time to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ, yet judging by the plans you were making, it seemed as though it was more to do with exchanging gifts and becoming - what was the word Scotty used again?”

“Bladdered,” Kirk supplied with a smirk. “Or getting drunk to you and me.”

“Fascinating,” Spock replied, actually stepping away from Kirk as though he’d suddenly contracted a virulent disease, instead of repeating Scotty’s exuberance over getting drunk.

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. It was Scotty’s idea to get bladdered, not mine,” Kirk said, defensively. “Besides, Christmas means different things to different people, Spock. Taking into consideration we’re on a ship comprising several different cultures and no doubt belief systems, then it would be best if we kept to the festivities only. That means exchanging gifts, kissing under the mistletoe and getting bladdered, and no mention of anyone’s beliefs at all. That might start a religious war or something. Just the extreme basics will do.”

“Perhaps it would be prudent to not refer to it as the Judeo-Christian festival, then, sir. I strongly suggest you name it something else, in all fairness to our xeno-cultural crew,” Spock replied.

“Hummph. Maybe. Opinions?” Kirk asked, with a shrug when his rather over-active imagination woefully fell short for once.

“I will give the matter my utmost perusal, sir,” Spock said, before Kirk was called away by Sulu.

~*~*~*~

The sights and sounds of the market-place surrounded McCoy as he trumped through piles of what looked to be snow, but was a strange orange colour and the globe-like texture of grapes. The doctor didn’t like the snow, although he hadn’t seen much of it back in Georgia. He doubted it would have been anything like the stuff pounding from the skies, however, and neither would it have made ominous squishing noises beneath his boots, either.

It was while Kirk was occupied by a stall filled with steaming pies of indeterminate fillings, hands already filled with bags of presents and food, that McCoy took the opportunity to scrape some of the smashed residue of the orange globular snow from his boots. He felt the soft pelting of more globules hitting the hood of his thick jacket, and he was glad for the protective covering. He didn’t like the idea of trying to bully the sticky mess from out of his hair at the end of the day.

“Bones, try this,” Kirk said, as he held a slither of one of the pies out to the doctor. “And yeah, it’s safe to eat before you ask. It’s a fruit pie.”

McCoy harrumphed, because it seemed as though the captain knew him too well already, pre-empting his very words with a caution. Instead, he obediently opened his mouth, allowing Kirk to slide the bite of pie into his mouth, before chewing tentatively. A sweet taste, not unlike a combination of strawberries, and oddly sweet potatoes, filled his mouth and he chewed appreciatively. Kirk was watching McCoy and didn’t miss the little smile that crossed the doctor’s face and warmed his hazel eyes.

As expected, McCoy merely shrugged and said - “It’s alright.”

“Huh,” Kirk harrumphed, with a long suffering sigh and an even louder eye-roll.

Before Kirk, McCoy didn't think that a simple eye-roll could even be loud, yet the captain could make even the most silent of gestures as loud as a shout with sheer expressiveness. McCoy hid an amused smile behind one gloved hand, feeling the heat of the wool press against his lips and his cheeks. He watched as Kirk bought a whole platter of the pie he’d sampled, before taking the wrapped food gracelessly.

“I don’t know why you want all this stuff, Jim,” McCoy groused, as he indicated with one jerk of his chin at the bags that adorned both their persons.

“There’s over 400 people who serve on the Enterprise, Bones. You think I wanna leave anyone out?” Kirk asked, horrified, as though the very thought of leaving even the lowliest engineer wanting was tantamount to blasphemy.

Perhaps to Kirk, it was, McCoy considered. He knew where Kirk was coming from, he really did, and he even agreed with him. He still didn’t see the validity of getting thirteen turkeys, twelve giant hams, twenty seven barrels of potatoes (sweet and ordinary) and a whole vineyard’s worth of the finest wine, let alone a few barrels of Romulan Ale. To his credit, McCoy had also noticed that Kirk had slyly purchased several bottles of the finest bourbon while the captain obviously thought that McCoy wasn’t looking. The doctor carried on the pretence of having not noticed, deciding to feign surprise for the captain’s sake all the same.

“Come on, let’s get something to eat, rest your weary bones, Bones,” Kirk said, with a cheeky grin.

“You’re sounding mighty like your own echo there, Jim,” McCoy said, with a rough snort into Kirk’s grin. “I think this Christmas spirit is getting to you.”

“Shame it’s not sweetening you up, cupcake,” Kirk replied, with an overstated eye-roll that seemed louder than his words again.

“Shut up,” McCoy ground out.

Surprisingly, Kirk did, proving that sometimes even an old country doctor got the last word.

~*~*~*~

McCoy slid into bed that night, paw-sore and weary, expecting to find sleep easily yet sleep didn’t come for a while. Despite his initial grumpiness and gruffness while helping Kirk with the shopping, he’d found he’d actually enjoyed the experience, despite not being one to do so, ordinarily. Usually just the bare essentials were all he required to get through his days. After Jocelyn had pretty much taken everything she could and then some from him, he’d found it prudent to not get too attached to anything. He never knew when someone, or something, would take it all away again.

He thought again of Kirk, of how happy he’d been while planning out all the required foodstuffs and decorations, cheeks pink with the cold and eyes shining with excitement. He’d looked so happy in that one moment, like the small boy he’d once been, and should have been if he’d had a happier upbringing. McCoy blamed the step-father for that one, not the mother. He knew that Winona did all she could for Kirk and Sam both, but ultimately, in the face of things, it hadn’t been enough.

He sighed and turned over, keeping his mind away from his own past, of Jocelyn and Joanna, and of what they were doing, without him. His eyes were sightless and staring, yet his mind consistently turned to things he didn’t want to relive. He fought to stay with Kirk, of trying to make him happy instead. He wondered why he even cared, yet a deep place inside of him knew why.

It was true that he thought a lot of the captain, yet some well-hidden part of him realized that he thought of James Kirk as more than just a friend. The last couple of weeks spent in Kirk’s company had been amongst the happiest and the most fun of McCoy’s life, especially taking into account his life recently.

McCoy shifted in bed, turning onto his side, as the first realization struck home that perhaps he was more than a little in love with his captain. He closed his eyes and groaned, yet still didn’t stop the coil of pleasure from ratcheting through his body. He smiled into the darkness of his room, before slowly drifting off into dreamless sleep at last.

 

~*~*~*~

Christmas rolled ever closer and Kirk was getting himself into a bit of a panic. He’d bought pretty much everyone on the Bridge the perfect Christmas present - Scotch for Scotty, perfume for Uhura, ear warmers for Spock - yet still Kirk thought he was missing the perfect gift for McCoy. Despite the fact that he knew the doctor had seen him buying the bourbon, he wanted something else, something that McCoy wouldn’t know about and would serve as the ultimate surprise.

Even though he’d always considered McCoy his friend, right from the moment he’d met him, he was beginning to wonder if there wasn’t something more between them than just mere friendship. He’d often caught the odd fleeting glance thrown his way by the doctor, lingering gazes growing ever more frequent as time went on. Kirk had met each and every gaze, blue eyes locking onto hazel, before both looked away with a slight blush and shuffle of feet. McCoy had cleared his throat each and every time, as though the doctor was thinking of something he perhaps felt awkward over, and Kirk could well attribute to that feeling.

Eventually he came to the undeniable conclusion, that his feelings were now blossoming into something more romantic, rather than mere friendship. The thought and realization didn’t help him much, however. Despite McCoy’s ever increasingly obvious attentions, and the way that the doctor seemed to find excuses to spend time with Kirk at odd moments, Kirk himself was hesitant about bringing up the subject.

For the first time in his life, he held back from saying anything, for the reason that McCoy had touched something inside him that no one else had yet. If he was wrong about McCoy's intentions, then he would have blown what was, essentially, his first real friendship. He didn’t want to waste something that was good to begin with. And so Kirk’s torture began, yet still, he found McCoy a constant, warming presence by his side.

Spock, at least had come back to Kirk with a suitable substitution for “Christmas,” - simply “Festivities.” Kirk, thinking it quite cheesy, agreed all the same, and still called it Christmas within the confines of his own mind, as he knew most other humans would.

~*~*~*~

McCoy was surprised when the first Christmas card was slipped under his doorway. Even though the card was unsigned apart from “From an admiring Secret Santa” he still knew that the card came from Kirk. The writing was unmistakably that of the captain’s, all loops and whorls that should have been sloppy but were elegant all the same. To look at Kirk, one would not think he had such nice handwriting.

McCoy had shaken his head at the choice of picture on the front - two snowmen kissing under a horrendously bright sprig of mistletoe. He had no clue that Kirk had chosen that design specifically, as a subliminal message indicating his true feelings for the doctor.

Despite the disgustingness of the mistletoe and the over-abundance of pink and glitter adorning the card itself, the doctor still put it on his desk, always noticeable wherever he was in the room. Kirk had wandered in one afternoon, whistling obscenely and cheekily into the room at large as he plucked the card from Doctor McCoy’s desk.

“Secret santaaaaa,” he cooed, batting too long eyelashes in McCoy’s direction. “Seems like our chief medical officer has an admirer.”

“Give me that back, you ass,” McCoy growled, plucking the card from Kirk’s grasping fingers and plonking it back into its pride of place on his desk. “And I’m a doctor not an object for someone’s admiration.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Bones. A lot of people go crazy for doctors,” Kirk contradicted him, with a grin, as he raised his hands and waggled his fingers into the doctor’s face. “It’s all in the hands, see? People think you have magical healing fingers.”

“Shut up. If you’re gonna continue talking like that, then you can get out of my Sickbay and never come back. Healing magical fingers, my ass,” McCoy groused.

“He’s right, sir,” Chapel chimed in, with an amused smile at McCoy’s resultant scowl. “You wouldn’t believe the amount of attention I get when I tell people I’m a nurse. Just think of what people think when they hear you’re the chief medical - okay, I’m shutting up now.”

Chapel scurried away beneath the righteous glare of McCoy. Kirk could still see the pleased grin that was tweaking at McCoy’s mouth, however, laughter glittering in the doctor’s kind eyes. He didn’t press the issue however, especially when McCoy pinned Kirk with a glare.

“The medical staff these days, honestly. The cheek of that woman,” McCoy said, with a roll of his eyes that would have rivalled any one of Kirk’s for sheer volume of disgust.

“I don’t know, Bones. Her cheek might just be based in fact, and I’m leaving the Sickbay, post-haste. I still haven’t forgiven you for leaving with numb-tongue and swollen hands, earlier this year,” Kirk said, as he turned to leave.

“You deserve all the pain you receive, Jim,” McCoy yelled after him.

“Merry Christmas to you, too, Bones,” was Kirk’s sole response.

~*~*~*~

The cards didn’t stop with Kirk’s not-so-secret-santa card to McCoy. Massive amounts of paper and card were flying every which way all over the Enterprise, leading Kirk and McCoy both to wonder what they’d started, when the decorations in the shape of ugly roast turkeys started appearing. No one knew where they had come from and, to make things worse, no one owned up to actually buying them.

McCoy put a stop to them when he found one staring at him from the depths of his medicine cupboard one day. He ripped it out and stamped all over it, making Chapel blush with his extreme invectives towards all fowl-kind.

Scotty, it seemed, was getting a large proportion of the Christmas cards, as was Kirk and McCoy, much to the doctor’s confusion. He supposed Kirk was logical, being the captain and an undeniably handsome fellow, and even Scotty was understandable. Everyone seemed to love the kindly engineer. He could not even begin to fathom why he himself was popular, however.

Uhura, being the prettiest lady on the Enterprise wasn’t doing too badly in the Christmas card stakes, either, although everyone knew her attentions were solely for Spock however. Christmas baubles started appearing and Scotty started taking to wearing a Santa hat every chance he got. When called out upon it by Kirk, the kindly engineer insisted that at least it went with his engineer’s tunic. Kirk had to agree with him on that one, with a grin and a shake of his head.

Christmas trees started appearing in every orifice and someone, somewhere, had found some fake snow and silly string, which found their way onto every single available surface on the ship. Neither Scotty nor McCoy were too pleased when it started interfering with their equipment or when ugly leering Santa faces started appearing sprayed upon the biobeds in Sickbay, scaring the more emotional of the patients, which in turn infuriated McCoy.

It came as some relief to all when the actual day arrived, and McCoy was the first to be heard grumbling that at least it would put an end to all of the festive shenanigans of previous days. Kirk, in turn, refrained from adding that it was at McCoy’s initial idea that had spurred the rash of Christmas related defacement. Duties went on as normal for most, with several Christmas parties being held all over the Enterprise for those whose shifts had ended early, or were still yet to start. The Bridge crew were resigned to the fact that they wouldn’t have their own party until the evening shift took over.

~*~*~*~

McCoy spotted the mistletoe hanging from the top of the conference room’s doorway upon first entering, ducking out of the way quickly before anyone could get any ideas about kissing him. He slipped around the edge of the room, skirting Scotty and Chekov who seemed intent upon partaking in a rather violent looking drinking game, interspersing shots of Vodka and snifters of Scotch with heated arguments upon which tipple was the best. McCoy shook his head and decided that bourbon beat both drinks hands down.

He stationed himself at the nibbles table, loading up an empty plate with hefty slices of corn-bread and sweet potatoes, peach cobbler and some rather delicious looking ham and turkey, before retiring to an isolated corner. He was weary after a long day in the Sickbay, a little soul-sick after losing a struggling patient to the arms of death. Death was never an easy thing to deal with and even worse at Christmas time. He munched slowly at his corn-bread, staring distantly off into space as he thought over the last hours of his shift.

“You look deep in thought, Bones,” came Kirk’s familiar voice as the captain plonked himself down uninvited beside him.

McCoy didn’t mind the intrusion, too needy of the welcome distraction that Kirk would no doubt provide by his very presence. If it had have been anyone else but Kirk right then, McCoy was under no doubt that he would have scared them off, however.

“Yeah, we lost Meyers today,” McCoy said, glancing slightly at Kirk.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Kirk said, losing his smile immediately. “I know it’s hard losing patients.”

“Yeah, I hear that,” McCoy replied, before falling silent again. Kirk watched him for a time, but didn’t start another conversation going, mindful of the doctor’s need for silent reflection then. Spock walked quietly by, seemingly in tune with McCoy’s silent grief, because the Vulcan handed the doctor a bottle of bourbon, aged to a warm vintage.

“This is for you, Doctor,” was all Spock said to him, brown eyes reflecting just the slightest hint of concern for an all too brief moment.

McCoy took the bottle, smiling at the brief show of emotion and said “Thanks, Spock. Much appreciated. You’re a pal.”

“I should hope so, sir,” was all Spock said, in return, before being called away by Uhura.

“See? He’s not so bad, is he?” Kirk said, with a grin as McCoy examined the bourbon with a appreciative little smile.

“For a pointy eared hobgoblin, no, he isn’t,” McCoy said, with a snort.

“You don’t quit, do you?” Kirk laughed.

“Never. The day I quit is the day I hand in my surgeon’s certificates,” McCoy said, defiantly.

“That’s what I like about you, Bones. You’re never a quitter,” Kirk replied, as he leant his head back against the wall behind him.

His eyes stared straight ahead and McCoy regarded him for an instant. His brow creased, skin puckering between his brows as he saw the first hint of pain in the captain’s clouded blue eyes.

“You alright, Jim?” he asked, putting aside his food and bourbon to attend to the captain beside him.

“Yeah. Nah. I dunno,” Kirk replied, which proved nothing at all to the doctor’s mind.

“Care to talk about it?” McCoy asked.

“As a doctor or a friend?” Kirk asked, wryly.

“A friend, I guess. Although, if you do need a doctor, well, I’m sure I could swing that, too,” McCoy said, just as wryly. “If it gets too serious, I still might uphold a promise I made to you once and vomit on you.”

“That’s great, Bones. You really know how to make a man feel better,” Kirk laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners as he did so.

McCoy smiled back at that, thinking as he did, that Kirk should smile more often. It was something that Kirk had lost in recent days with the onset of pre-Christmas trials and tribulations and it was only then that McCoy realized he’d missed Kirk’s smile. He cleared his throat, not wanting to dwell on something he wasn’t even sure meant anything, before he clapped Kirk’s raised knee.

“Part of my job description,” he said, to Kirk’s earlier statement.

“As a doctor or a friend?” Kirk asked again.

“This time? It’s purely the doctor in me,” McCoy said. “Friends don’t willingly vomit on each other.”

“Nah, that they don’t,” Kirk said, before falling silent again.

McCoy waited for Kirk to start speaking again, not wishing to impose on the other man’s private pain. He opened his bottle of Bourbon, before realizing that although Spock had bothered to give him the drink, he hadn’t brought any glasses to go with it.

“Pointy eared bastard,” McCoy yelled across the room. “You could have brought us some damn glasses. Illogical creature!”

Kirk laughed at that and was still laughing when Scotty took pity upon the infuriated doctor by bringing some shot glasses himself. The engineer's gait was as unsteady as his gaze, body listing to the side with too much scotch and vodka imbibed on an empty stomach.

“Thanks, Scotty, and you should lie down before you fall down,” McCoy advised. “Eat something, Have some coffee. Better still, drink copious amounts of water and flush that alcohol out.”

“Shu’ up. ‘S christmasss, innit?” Scotty slurred, before staggering away to re-join Chekov.

“Did you get that?” McCoy asked, with a quizzical frown at Kirk.

“Nah. I think he was speaking in Gaelic or something,” Kirk concurred, loyally.

“Gaelic, my ass,” McCoy said, affectionately, before using the shot glasses to pour out bourbon for them both. “It’s the best I can do, Jim.”

“Thanks,” Kirk replied, before taking the shot glass from the doctor’s hand.

Their fingers brushed together slightly and McCoy shivered slightly at the contact. Kirk didn’t seem to notice, mouth pushed out into a thoughtful pout before he drank slightly. It took him a while and a few shots of the bourbon before he finally spilled what was on his mind.

“I hate Christmas, you know,” he announced, suddenly.

“What? Then why were you depressed about it? We did all of this for you,” McCoy said, appalled, as he swung one hand around at the revelling crew members surrounding them.

“I know. I’ve only just realized how shitty it actually is,” Kirk said, with a snort. “It’s just a holiday for the lonely, is all.”

“You’re lonely? You’re the least loneliest person I know,” McCoy scoffed. “You have a different partner every week, the attention of practically every female crew member on board and some of the men to boot, and you’re freaking lonely. What’s wrong with you, man?”

“None of that’s real, Bones. No one knows me, as a man. All they see is this,” and Kirk pointed to his face and his captain’s tunic. “None of them care who I am in here.”

That last was accompanied by a fist against his chest. McCoy didn’t know what to say to that at first; instead he just filled up Kirk’s shot glass.

“It ain’t all it’s cracked up to be, kid,” he said, finally. “I should know. I got divorced.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. There’s someone out there for you, who wants you for you. Jocelyn is an idiot for letting go of you, if you’ll forgive my impudence,” Kirk said, heatedly.

“Your impudence is forgiven, especially when it’s the truth,” McCoy conceded. “Okay, so if there’s someone out there for me, then the same applies to you.”

“Yeah. Pity they don't know how I feel,” Kirk said, morosely.

“Oh, so this is what this is all about? Seriously,” McCoy snorted, although that snort was to hide a surge of sympathy for Kirk. “You’re moping over some woman?”

“Not a - “ and Kirk broke off, suddenly. “Never mind. It will never reach fruition, I guess. Too many damn things against it.”

“Why should there be? Whoever this mysterious person is, you should tell them, see what they say,” McCoy said. “It’s no good torturing yourself over something you could easily change.”

“Is that advice from the doctor or the friend?” Kirk asked.

“Both this time,” McCoy replied, firmly. “Who is it anyway? Anyone I know?”

“Yeah, I should say so,” Kirk said, morosely. “Kinda hard not to know him on a ship this size.”

“It’s a male, okay. Now, we’re getting somewhere. Is this mysterious man a friend? Hey, perhaps it’s Spock? You got a thing for pointy ears and green blood?” McCoy grinned.

“No way,” Kirk reacted immediately. “He’s cool and all, but Spock? Seriously? Uhura will rip me limb from limb if I even so much as look at him, anyway.”

McCoy laughed at that. The mere thought of Uhura causing harm to anyone seemed unlikely to both men, given her diminutiveness and slender frame. No amount of ferociousness could make up for stature.

“It doesn’t matter, anyway. It’s unlikely the person I like even notices me that way,” Kirk said, before he sighed and slowly unfurled his long frame into a standing position. “D’you want some more food?”

Despite the fact that McCoy hadn’t even finished what was on his plate, he still nodded. He knew that the question about food had been merely a diversionary tactic on Kirk’s behalf and not a genuine request. He wondered if perhaps the conversation had grown too uncomfortable for Kirk and so, decided not to pursue the subject any further. Let the captain have his mysterious problem for a while longer, until Kirk himself decided to reveal it to the world, McCoy reasoned.

Kirk didn’t even wait to see what food McCoy wanted; instead he just left, striding over to the buffet table and helping himself to two portions of peach cobbler. He returned to McCoy, handed one portion of cobbler to the doctor before being called away by Sulu. McCoy didn’t see much of Kirk for the rest of the evening; merely catching glimpses of the captain’s slender frame mingling with the people. Despite the smiles that Kirk typically gave everyone, McCoy could still see the sadness trapped in the captain’s eyes and the way that Kirk kept glancing over at him as though for comfort or approval. McCoy started wondering why Kirk did that and didn’t get his answer until much later. He was surprised that he even got an answer at all.

He was standing by the doorway he’d studiously ducked through at the beginning of the evening, glass full of bourbon in his hand, talking to Uhura, when he felt someone tap him on the shoulder. The doctor turned and saw Kirk standing behind him, eyes fuzzy with drink, swaying slightly where he stood, yet smiling a little maniacally at him. Feeling a little drunk around the edges himself, McCoy grinned back.

“Bones,” Kirk said, proudly. “It was you.”

“What was me? I didn’t do anything,” McCoy protested, feeling confused.

“No. Who I was talking about earlier, ya idiot. It was you,” Kirk said, staring at McCoy with the biggest pair of puppy eyes McCoy had ever seen gracing the captain's face.

Suddenly, it all clicked into place for McCoy then, of the person Kirk had said he wanted yet believed he couldn’t have. His sobriety came crashing in, washing away the drunken fuzz of previously.

“Oh,” he said, in surprise.

“Yeah,” Kirk said, swaying. “But I can’t have what I want, can I, Bones? You don’t want me.”

“I didn’t say that, Jim,” McCoy said, slowly, realizing as he spoke the words that they were true. “And I don’t think I ever would.”

“You’re just humour-, humour-, joking with me,” Kirk said, slapping McCoy slightly on one cheek.

“Dammit, Jim, will you listen to yourself? You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re saying, much less what anyone else is trying to tell you,” McCoy growled, pushing Kirk beneath the mistletoe inadvertently. “Go to your room. Sleep it off and we’ll talk about this in the morning., okay?”

“Can’t I go to your room?” Kirk asked, squinting at McCoy as though to try and bring the doctor’s face into focus.

“Fine, If you must,” McCoy said, wondering just what he was getting himself into.

“Doctor,” Uhura’s soft voice said beside him.

“What?” McCoy barked, without thinking.

Uhura didn’t say anything; merely pointed at the bunch of mistletoe above McCoy’s head.

“Dammit,” McCoy said, seeing no other choice but to take advantage of the situation. “If you won’t listen to me, then you’ll have to take notice of this, won’t you, Jim?”

And with that, he pulled Kirk into a tight hug, planting a big wet kiss upon the captain’s mouth. It took a few seconds for Kirk’s brain to catch up with what was happening to his mouth, yet soon, he was kissing McCoy back lustily. The kiss was sloppy, yet McCoy found it more enjoyable than he imagined and he tried to ignore the cheers that surrounded them both.

He held onto the captain, even as Kirk’s legs sagged and finally gave out, his body laying drunkenly in the doctor’s arms.

“I think he passed out,” McCoy said, stupidly.

“That must have been one hell of a kiss, Doctor,” Uhura said, with an approving smile. “It’s about time, too. I was getting quite sick of you two pussy-footing around one another.”

“I do not pussy-foot, Lieutenant,” McCoy said, irritably. “And neither does Jim.”

“Uh-huh,” Uhura said, sounding as though she didn’t believe a word of it.

“Okay, maybe we do a little, “McCoy said, relenting into the sudden grin of Uhura. “I really need to get Jim to my quarters. The guy’s heavier than he looks.”

“You would know, Doctor,” Uhura said, calmly.

McCoy chose to ignore that comment, as he strode from the room, hampered only slightly by the dragging, prone form of Jim Kirk in his arms.

~*~*~*~

McCoy wrestled Kirk through the doorway to the doctor’s quarters, the captain’s eyes a whirling miasma of drunkenness. Kirk was hiccupping and seemed to be having trouble focussing on anything more than standing, and it didn’t take long for him to crash out onto McCoy’s bed before he promptly fell asleep.

“Oh, great. Thanks, Jim,” McCoy groused, when he realised that Kirk was hogging all the room. “Where the hell am I going to sleep, you fool?”

He sighed, and decided to hell with it. He struggled onto the bed, fully clothed and was surprised into a chuckle when Kirk threw an arm around his waist and settled his head upon McCoy’s shoulder, all while still sleeping McCoy watched Kirk for a while, before laying one hand upon the captain’s back and settling down to sleep himself.

He was awoken in the morning by an aggravated groan nearby. The first thing he saw was Kirk’s agonised face as the captain, held his forehead between cradling, tender hands.

“What the hell happened? Where am I?” Kirk asked, before his still slightly unfocussed eyes took in the sight of McCoy. “Oh Jesus. I didn’t do anything to you, did I?”

“Other than profess your undying love for me, no,” McCoy replied, with a frown.

“Oh God,” Kirk groaned, falling back onto the bed ungraciously. “I’m sorry. You can ignore that if it makes you feel better. I wasn’t gonna say anything.”

“The fact that I did kiss you under the mistletoe rather than the other way around would indicate that I’m more than okay with it, Jim,” McCoy replied, with a slight smile curving his lips.

“You did? I wish I could remember that,” Kirk said, with a snort. “Unless you’re just jerking my chain, now.”

“Am I known for jerking people’s chains, Jim?” McCoy asked, with an arch lift to one eyebrow.

“Never. You’re just as forthright as Spock, although friendlier, judging by last night,” Kirk replied, with a snort.

“Spock would not have kissed you, no, Jim,” McCoy agreed. “I would have killed him if he’d tried. Okay, that came out more possessive than I’d intended.”

Kirk laughed at that, but didn’t comment upon McCoy’s statement. Instead, he reached out and grinned when McCoy allowed him to take his hand, fingers twining together. Kirk realized then just how much longer the doctor’s fingers were than his.

“Did you really kiss me?” Kirk asked, finally breaking the silence between them.

“Yup,” McCoy replied, with an unapologetic smile.

“Did we do anything else?” the captain asked, next.

“The fact that we’re still both fully clothed would negate that statement, Jim,” McCoy replied. “Quite unfortunately.”

“You sly dog, Bones,” Kirk said, with a sudden laugh. “Taking advantage of a man when he’s drunk.”

“Hey, it was you who told me you loved me,” McCoy said. “While you were drunk, I might add.”

“I said I loved you? I went that far?” Kirk asked.

“Not in so many words, but the implications were there,” McCoy replied.

“And there you were just saying you didn’t jerk anyone’s chains,” Kirk said.

“Well, in this case, some of it was based in fact, Jim,” McCoy pointed out. “I didn’t make it up. Not entirely.”

“Jeez. Now you know why I hate Christmas,” Kirk said, with a laugh.

“Oh, I don’t know, Jim. Some good things do happen at Christmas,” McCoy replied, thoughtfully.

“Yeah? Like what? Royally embarrassing myself in front of my whole crew?” Kirk asked, with a horrified groan.

“That would imply that you were alone, again. Like I said, it was me who kissed you, remember?” McCoy asked. “That would indicate that I kind of do want you, you know.”

“You do?” Kirk asked, turning bright puppy eyes onto McCoy again.

“Sure,” McCoy replied. “I’m a doctor, not a liar.”

“I know,” Kirk said, as he stared at McCoy thoughtfully.

“Besides, if you wanna try for a Christmas kiss properly this time, then we can always give it another shot,” McCoy said, plucking the same sprig of mistletoe that had graced the conference room doorway the previous evening.

“Where the hell did you get that?” Kirk asked, as he stared at the lurid white berries against the much darker green leaves held between McCoy‘s long, slender fingers.

“Oh, Spock and Uhura dropped it by last night while you were sleeping. Said it was their final Christmas gift to both of us,” McCoy grinned. “Kinda thoughtful of them, don’t you think?”

“I’ll say. You sure you want another shot at this?” Kirk asked, even as McCoy held the mistletoe over the other man‘s head.

“Just shut up, Jim, and kiss me,” McCoy said.

And so Kirk did just that.

~~ the end ~~

 


End file.
